


The Line of Fire

by VesperNexus



Category: Scorpion (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Tag to 01x10 Talismans, s01e10 Talismans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2015-01-30
Packaged: 2018-03-09 16:44:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3257090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VesperNexus/pseuds/VesperNexus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if things had happened differently at the end of Talismans?</p><p>Walter was slouched forward ever so slightly. His shirt was torn and filthy, slashed open to reveal the dark edges of forming bruises and dried blood. His neck, like the rest of his visible flesh, was adorned with a halo of molten tones and finger prints, like someone had held their fingers at his throat for longer than the minute earlier.</p><p>The rebel held a gun to Walter’s head and threatened to shoot, and the younger man looked almost accepting. </p><p>Cabe could swear he’d never been in a more terrifying situation in his entire life.</p><p>In which Walter and Cabe are captured by rebels, and the agent finds out just how far the genius is willing to go for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Line of Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Hey fellow Scorpions! Just a short two shot which came to me after I watched "Talismans"- which was fairly brilliant in all it's serious and hilarious glory.
> 
> I hope you enjoy.
> 
> -VN

**The Line of Fire**

One thing deemed itself important as it ran through Cabe’s head when they had neared the site, a desperate hand waving from consistent stream of worried thoughts flooding his mind like a river during a storm. Straining his ears for any notable sounds with his eyes skilfully and adroitly scanning the surrounding area with the speed of a hawk, his mind had rested on but a single flowing, undeniable fact.

_They’re taking too long._

Now, when he recounted his thought process from only minutes previous, he resisted the urge to mentally kick himself for his inaction.

His eyes read the room like an open book, brain filling with scenarios and possibilities and outcomes as he tested the heavy weight of the metal shackles around his wrists.

He should have known something was wrong when Walter and Jim hadn’t appeared immediately.

He should’ve moved _faster_.

He leaned back carefully with the slightest tilt of his shoulders against the cold concrete behind him, the restrains chaining him to the wall cold and unyielding. One leg was folded beneath him like paper whilst the other splayed out, almost providing the illusion of comfort. The back of his head ached and something warm trickled along his hairline from a cut to his brow. The cell was only metres wide with a single, narrow door on the north wall, far from his position.

He ignored the momentary red blurring of his vision, and instead attempted to focus on the situation at hand.

“This is just peachy.” He muttered, leaning further back as his eyes filtered towards the side to concentrate on the silent figure beside him.

Walter let out a sigh, tugging lightly at the heavy links around his wrists.

“I believe the word you’re looking for is unfortunate.” He paused for a second, “or maybe, terrible, degenerate, reprobate, tense, regrettable, poor, afflicted, deplo-”

“ _Yes_ , thank you for that Walter. I get the picture.” He interrupted, voice tinted with annoyance and the slightest touch of amusement despite the situation. He focused on the younger man, unruly curls messy and dark against his pallid skin.

There was the evident redness of a forming bruise on Walter’s cheek, coupled with a jagged cut leaking crimson down his jaw. Cabe imaged one of their captors must have been wearing a ring of some sort. Perhaps the sort fit for this situation.

The skin around the genius’s wrists was rubbed almost raw, reddened angrily and scratched to the point of bleeding in some sensitive areas. His fingers were already bruised a compilation of darkened purple and green tones and twitched painfully and involuntarily every few moments.

“Got a plan?” Came the quiet question, and Cabe took in the other’s dimming stare, the ashen paleness, the widened eyes.

He let out a breath and thought about their situation- both chained unyieldingly to a dirty wall in a make-shift prison run by rogues, rebels, and sadistic psychopathic murderers. Alone, unarmed, at the mercy of ruthless and crazed Russians on the edge of nowhere-street, right in the centre of you’ll-never-be-found-alive-ville.

He decided to focus on the more positive attributes.

“The Captain’s gone, alive and safe. So’s Jim. They’ll meet up with Paige and the others and find Happy and Toby. Then they’ll formulate a plan and come for us.” Cabe pursed his lips as he spoke what he knew Walter was thinking.

“So…” the younger man beside him shifted with a wince, Cabe noted, “we just… wait?”

An uncertainty the agent wasn’t used to hearing crept into the usually calm, collected and confident tone. “You know the chances of them letting us live long enough for reinforcements to arrive are _literally_  forty-six thousand to _one_ , if we’re being generous-”

Cabe licked his lips, “They’ve been gone a while, now, haven’t they? It’s been what, twenty, thirty minutes?”

Walter nodded without moving his head too much. “Twenty-eight minutes, thirty-four seconds and counting.”

He lifted an eyebrow, “I thought they took your watch?”

Walter didn’t pause. “They did.”

Cabe didn’t think about that too much and decided to concentrate on the more pressing issues in their current predicament.

“Okay, so- twenty-eight minutes. That’s almost a half hour since Jim and the Captain escaped. They must have found everyone else by now. They don’t need long to formulate a plan and-”

“ _Yes,_ ” Walter interrupted him quickly, voice pressing and quick, “yes, but that’s twenty-eight minutes the rebels could have been searching for them. Almost half an hour they could have been- could still _be_ \- preparing for an attack. Twenty-eight minutes of setting traps, reinforcing entrances and exits, _fighting back_.”

There was momentary silence as Cabe allowed himself to think about what Walter was saying. He licked his dry lips again and shifted backwards slightly in an attempt to move his muscles as they were rapidly becoming stiff from the cold.

He could hear the underlying _worry_ in Walter’s voice, the hint of _something_ almost vulnerable he’d only ever heard once before.

And then, there was the more prominent _annoyance_ and assurance. Walter knew he was cleverer, more organised, than their captors. He knew he could outsmart them if- when- it came down to it.

He just didn’t know how to do it and get both of them out _alive_.

“Walter,” the older man said, inserting as much assurance and confidence as he could into his tone, “we’ll be _fine._ ”

When Cabe and the others had arrived, Walter and Jim still hadn’t emerged from inside. When they entered, tracing their footsteps, all hell had broken loose.

The fight was ruthless and loud, and one of the objectives they had was achieved. The Captain was removed from immediate danger.

Problem was, the software still remained with the rebels, and in a failed attempt to flee, so did Cabe and Walter.

Which was why, the agent thought with a growing worry, he and the young genius were now chained to a wall- hands unable to stretch past the height of their waists- in another underground room. Captured by merciless assailants Cabe knew were willing to go as far as they needed to extract the information they desired.

Walter didn’t reply, and he didn’t have to. Cabe could almost see the cogs and gears spinning inside his head, could almost hear the loud clanking and bustling of the mechanics of their situation coming together. If felt like if he concentrated enough, he’d be able to feel the metal spinning beneath his fingers as Walter attempted to organise and compartmentalise everything he’d understood in their situation.

And truth be told, that, more than anything, was what terrified Cabe.

He was careful not to allow it to leak in his voice, and he attempted to neutralise the shivers which had resided along his arms. They had nothing to do with the cold, with the fact that the rebels had left them with no protective clothing. Merely their long sleeves, trousers, socks and shoes in negative temperatures.

But it all had to do with _Walter._

Cabe knew he would organise everything in order to adapt, successfully removing himself from the situation. He’d isolate himself and deny his emotions, forcing them so far back they would never be within his reach until the aftermath of the situation. That meant there was no fear, no anxiety, in regards to their predicament, _no self-preservation._

A glance confirmed his fears. Walter was staring silently ahead, orbs focusing so intensely on the wall metres away that an irrational part of Cabe feared he’d stare a hole into it.

Cabe had military training, that much was obvious. The way he spoke, the way he held himself, the air of authority he demanded. He was a _soldier._ The rogues knew that. Walter, on the other hand, had a blatant _disregard_ for authority. He had no physical combat training. He’d never been formally taught how to use a gun. He didn’t use brawn, he used brains. He was the tech guy, and the rogues knew that too.

Cabe didn’t have to be a genius to come to the same conclusion as they had, the same conclusion Walter hadn’t mentioned. They wouldn’t focus on Cabe because he wasn’t important, he wasn’t _key_ or breakable.

Walter, however. Walter was spirited and resilient, and he’d never been tortured before. Walter had never had his fingers broken, or his nails pulled from their beds with pliers. He’d never been electrocuted or bled out or cut with perfect efficiency in order to ensure maximum pain.

Cabe didn’t need to ask Walter if he knew what was going to happen. Walter would have figured it out long before the rebels themselves.

“We’ll be fine.” Cabe repeated. He cleared his throat for a short moment, forcing all dangerous thoughts to the back of his mind. He didn’t need to look at the young genius to know that he was paying complete attention. “Just don’t do anything reckless.” He finished seriously, voice low and grave.

A small, almost amused smile adorned Walter’s split lips for a second before he replied.

“When have I ever done anything I hadn’t meant to, Cabe?”

The agent swallowed, shaking his head and ignoring the way the pounding behind his eyes increased in beat and rhythm, like an angry set of drums demanding to be played.

“I’m _serious_ , Walter.” He took a breath as Walter turned to look at him, eyes meeting and darkening simultaneously, “These people are _ruthless._ They’re killers. They’re going to do anything they feel they need to in order to get what they want.”

Walter nodded gently, understanding shining in his intelligent eyes. “The software.”

Cabe sighed in affirmation. “They know you can give it to them, Walter. But they won’t believe you.”

The younger man lifted an eyebrow in response, awaiting the agent’s explanation.

“They’ll tell you to give them what they want, and if- _when-_ ” he stressed, ignoring the way Walter’s gaze shifted almost defiantly, “ _when_ you tell them you will, they’ll want to be certain you won’t trick them. They’ll… emphasise they’re seriousness, Walter.”

Cabe had never seen someone look so collected after being told they’d be tortured by rebels shortly. If not for the quick licking of his dry, bloodied lips, it would have been as if he’d asked Walter to get him an apple from the kitchen.

“Just…” Cabe didn’t really know what to say at this point. Hold on? Hang on? Stall? Aim between the legs?

After a moment, Walter spoke again.

“As soon as they have what they want, they’ll kill us, you know that right?”

The agent tugged on the metal shackles around his flesh. He’d been foolishly hoping to avoid that line of discussion.

Leaning back further against the cold, solid wall, he took a moment to collect himself.

“I know.”

There was silence, before the young genius let out a quiet sigh. The bruise on his cheek was becoming more prominent against his pale skin and his wrists were darkening in their tones of purple and green. The cut along his cheekbone had slowed in bleeding, but it was still an angry red and left streaks of blood along his flesh. Cabe knew it would need stitches.

And then-

Loud footfalls suddenly echoed down the corridor, beyond the single wooden door afar from their reach. Walter immediately sat up alert, body going ridged. Cabe swallowed slowly and forced his mind to calm his splaying thoughts, focusing on naught but _his_ single objective. He didn’t tell Walter that he’d hand over the software in a heartbeat if he could, that he’d tell them any password they desired if it meant they’d let the young man go free.

Instead, he glanced at the bloodied sight of the confident man beside him, taking in the deep and painful looking cut on his cheek with a restrained grimace.

He hoped that by the end of the day, that would be all that needed stitches.

*

The dark wooden door creaked open slowly and almost unwillingly. Heavy timber screeched against the dirty concrete floor and was accompanied by the steely protested of unoiled hinges.

Cabe held his breath as the door was pushed open, almost gently, to reveal the tall, dark and burly form of one of their captors.

Gifted with a split lip and bruised jaw, the rebel took a moment to stand above Cabe and Walter for a very still second, as if waiting for the palpable tension in the air to dissipate. Behind him, two rogues stood side by side, heavy slick metal weapons gripped tightly in their hands. Their captors had dressed the same as before, so Cabe knew the twenty-eight, no thirty-five or so minutes, hadn’t been spent playing dress ups.

The front man twisted his lips in a mocking sneer at them as if reading Cabe’s mind, and took several short steps across the room. The agent practically felt Walter tense beside him, shoulders stiffening and almost brushing against his. A quick glance showed Cabe a cold, eerily calm steeliness in Walter’s eyes that hadn’t existed previously. A defiant light shining the darkness from his hazel orbs.

Walter said nothing beside him, simply displaying a perfect image of calm as the Russian knelt in front of them, knees resting against the filthy ground.

Cabe forced himself to remain relaxed, hunching his shoulders ever so slightly as the other man leaned in towards them, dark eyes curiously scanning over their figures and consuming every relevant detail.

“So,” the thick accent filled the room loudly, “Agent…” he turned to Cabe with a slight tilt of his head, “Cabe, isn’t it? Cabe Gallo?” Almost curiously furrowed brows rested above sharp eyes which considered him with great distaste and slight interest, as a scientist might have considered a lab rat. Cabe didn’t enlighten him with an answer, and he didn’t await one. Instead, eyes which had been previously focused on the agent turned to the genius beside him.

Immediately, a gaze previously without intrigue or fascination morphed into  something entirely opposite as it rested on Walter. Cabe forced his nervousness to sink deep into his chest as something he entirely did not like, something he was unable to identify, filtered through the look.

“And, Walter, wasn’t it?” He spoke slowly and with seemingly great deliberation. “A very…” he paused, as if in contemplation, “ _curious_ pair as you Americans might say. But- _O’Brien_ \- well, it does not sound very western, no?”

Cabe ignored the sudden pounding in his chest and kept his image of calm, ignoring the fact that the rogues suddenly knew their names.

“Actually,” Walter replied with a tone almost _oozing_ boredom, and the agent forced himself not to sigh in defeat, “it’s Irish.”

A moment passed in silence when Walter- when Walter _smiled_ at their captor and the Russian smiled back, and Cabe mentally screamed at Walter because what part did he not hear about _recklessness_?

The man was frighteningly composed for a moment before a light, sharply tinted laugh broke through from his lips as if he was laughing at a bad joke a friend had spoken. The agent tensed immeasurably but beside him, Walter remained miraculously motionless.

And then, the other man reached forward and placed a heavy hand on Walter’s shoulder, like one would do a brother or a son. Cabe felt his nails digging crescents into his palms due to the nearing proximity of the rebel and the genius.

Walter’s smile vanished when the laughter suddenly halted, and the fingers on his shoulder curled inwards and clutched the limb tightly to the point where the rebel’s knuckles became tinted in white. Cabe forced himself to calm as he watched Walter barely suppress a flinch at the bruises the grip was surely forming.

“You think you are so _clever_ , don’t you, Walter?” His tone had begun to edge, a darkness seeping through the cracks of his twisted façade. Cabe mentally cursed the shackles restraining wrists that would have otherwise been at the rebel’s throat by now.

“Well actually, I don’t just _think_ I am- Mr,” _God damn it, Walter, just shut u-_ ”What _is_ your name again? Anyway- that’s insignificant. I don’t need to _believe_ I’m _anything_ with an IQ of a hundred and ninety-seven if you can… _wrap your head_ around it. Yes, it _is_ curious.” His voice came out smooth, calm and collected with a very notable hint of condescension, lips bloodied yet moving quickly and a set to his brows which made it seem as if he’d spoken to a child.

_God damn it._

The rebel moved so quickly all Cabe was able to do was lift his hands with futility, ignoring the way the chains pulled painfully at his wrists. Walter didn’t even have time to flinch.

The man’s hand, bruised at the knuckles, thrust forth in a backwards motion as he forcefully backhanded Walter with a growing ire tainting his movements.

The genius’s head snapped to the side painfully with the strength behind the hit and he released a breathless groan.

“Hey!” Cabe yelled angrily, unable to swallow his growing fury. The cut on Walter’s cheek, previously slowed in bleeding and only reddened, split significantly wider with the force. Fresh blood adorned the assailants hand and the side of the genius’s face, smeared on his pale flesh like fresh paint on canvas. “Hey-”

The rogue ignored him. Still collecting himself from the force of the blow, Walter was left breathless when the rogue leant close to him and dug his fingers into his neck in a choke-hold just beneath his jaw. His hand, tight around the genius’s throat, forced his head back against the wall and worked effectively in blocking his airway.

It lasted for only a minute. A minute where Walter had futility desperately lifted his hands in instinct, as if in an attempt to pry the digits from his neck. A minute after which crescent, finger-shaped marks adorned the younger man’s throat- stark angry red against ashen paleness on previously healthy tan skin. A minute after which he was left leaning to the side and catching his breath like it was the first he’d had in years.

A minute where the agent’s voice abandoned him and anger replaced it _all_.

Cabe saw red.

“I hope…” The thick Russian accent echoed suddenly and slowly throughout the small room, and only heightened Cabe’s fury, “this, how you say… Leaves us at an _understanding._ Yes?”

“Yes-”, Cabe interrupted before Walter could say anything, even though he was still regaining his breath, “damn it. Just tell us what you-”

“Do not act foolish, Agent Gallo,” the man interrupted, eyes filtered towards Cabe instead of Walter, “you know exactly what I want. And I know how to get it.”

The rebel motioned for the two rogues behind him to come forth with a slight, sharp tilt of his head. Whatever amusement and jubilance had been in his eyes as he mocked his prisoners had all but vanished, leaving naught but a barricade of steel walls in place. A grim, determined line had set across his lips, slowly twitching into a self-assured smile.

The two men leant beside him, and Cabe was only able to watch as they unchained Walter from his spot, the younger man pressing his back to the wall in an attempt futile of resistance.

“Hey!” Cabe’s voice was hard as he spoke. He’d attempted to mentally prepare himself for this, for them taking _Walter_ , but it was _different._ Every cell in his body fought against it, every particle of the essence of who he was resisted the simple notion that these bastards were going to _hurt Walter._ “Leave him _alone_.”

The rebel who’d demanded charge simply _laughed_ , a loudening ugly sound which reverberated eerily throughout the small room.

“Do not worry, Agent Gallo. We will release him as soon as we have what we want.”

Walter remained quiet as he roughly yanked up by his arms, deliberately supressing a moan. Cabe felt something dark tumble and turn deep inside him.

Their grip on the young genius was unrelenting, hands and fingers tightly clasped around slender wrists and forearms with so much strength Cabe knew there’d be bruises. His voice rose up in his quickly constricting throat at the actual realism of the situation- that fact that this was actually _going to happen._ Jesus.

He wanted nothing more than to yell at them, than to get them to _stop_ somehow. But Cabe knew how rogues worked. He knew that in a single moment with the wrong influence, they could _snap_. They were ruthless and careless and Cabe was certain that they would have no trouble punishing Walter for his actions.

The rogues moved, forcing Walter along with them and only a single thought ran through the agent’s head.

_Give them what they want, Walter._

The men stopped at the door for a short moment,

“Will you give us what we want, Walter, and save yourself the pain?”

 _Yes, damn it, Walter_.

From Cabe’s angle, he made out the slight tilt to the younger man’s head, blood smeared across his features like paint. Something filtered throughout those dark intelligent eyes and Cabe felt something heavy in the pit of his stomach. Something like worry, _fear_ , a constant pressure directly caused by the emerging of defiance and rebellion in Walter’s gaze.

“The chances of that occurring are substantially, figuratively and literally _one in a million._ ”

God _damn it._

*

This had to be the worst torture of all.

He would have preferred torn nails or broken fingers of hot shocking touches of naked electrical wiring. He’d rather have heard himself scream and curse and taunt. He wished for an emotion, for annoyance, for anger, for _resentment_ , anything but _this_. This lonely, empty hollowness that had settled within his chest and spread like spider-cracks on an aged, trembling looking glass. This uncertainty. This _fear._

He’d heard nothing but the occasional creak of floor boards outside the cell. His wrists were rubbed raw and stained with spots of dry blood from his futile attempts to slip from the thick, unruly metal.

There were no noises which implied anything regarding Walter’s state. There were no screams, shouts, or curses. Only silence.

And that, perhaps, was the greatest torture of all.

His internal clock rang dutifully an echoed in his head, the only part of him not seeking a distraction. Approximately forty-five minutes had passed since the rebels had taken Walter, and still, in the small cabin, there existed no sign to indicate he’d ever been there besides the light trail of blood smeared along the wall by Cabe.

The agent’s mind had processed so much information he was unable to utilise, so much which failed to tell him when aid was come, which failed to tell him _if_ they were coming.

Once he’d banished thoughts such as those from his major process, the darker recesses of his brain only intensified and he had been left wondering what technique the rogues had exercised to simultaneously damage and silence Walter.

_What if they’d done worse? What if they’d gone too far? What if they were too angered and blinded by their ambition that they had become far too ruthless?_

_What if Walter wasn’t coming back?_

He had quickly progressed from those thoughts too, discarding them with wild abandon. He didn’t think about what the young genius meant to him and how this was going to affect _everything_.

Over the past several months, he and Walter had constructed some sort of complex relationship which simultaneously eased and convoluted every relevant aspect of who they both were. Lord knew they had an incredibly long, tedious path to travel before they reached a modicum of what they had developed years ago- but this, this carefully developed and intricately constructed connection they had fostered with great time and compromise, _it was important._

A link founded on betrayal and regret and anger, it was perhaps the greatest mockery of a familial connection, but it was something, and it was _theirs._

And Cabe would be damned before he let those _thugs_ rip something so precious so viciously away from him. From _them_.

It took longer for his heart to calm that time. 

Finally, almost a single hour following Walter’s disappearance, something of significance occurred. Seated uncomfortably on the filthy concrete floor, chained to the gritty wall behind him with naught but dark thoughts and heavy heart to occupy his state of mind, Cabe was startled to notice the slight creaking of the door.

Heart pounding so hard he illogically feared it may break through his ribcage to leave jagged bone and torn muscles, he could only watch in frozen silence as the rogues entered through the entrance.

And with them, Walter.

Cabe felt his breath catch in his throat.

*

They had brought chairs with them.

Thin, brittle, incredibly uncomfortable metal abominations they cuffed them to, tightening the restraints on Cabe’s wrists to the point of numbness. At the ankles, his legs were wrapped in heavy iron shackles and linked around the metal to ensure total immobility.

His back had already begun to ache, arms almost trembling with the tightness and discomfort of being restrained in such a manner.

It barely registered to him.

He only noticed a single aspect of the entire situation. Of being shackled to the chair, of being controlled so roughly, of being forced into a situation where fear was his greatest friend and enemy.

He only noticed the figure ahead, seated in the same position as he, directly opposing and facing him.

Walter’s wrists and ankles were shackled to the metal chair with similar heavy and unforgiving restraints. His position mirrored Cabe’s, yet it was so entirely different.

Walter was slouched forward ever so slightly. His shirt was torn and filthy, slashed open to reveal the dark edges of forming bruises and dried blood. His neck, like the rest of his visible flesh, was adorned with a halo of molten tones and finger prints, like someone had held their fingers at his throat for longer than the minute earlier.

His left shoulder continued to twitch routinely, and Cabe was able to recognise broken bones and a dislocated joint. Breathes which escaped from bloodied, blue-tinged lips were short and shallow as if something remained to block his airway. And from the sound of his chest rattling, the sound of lungs attempting to remain adjusted echoing so loudly they reached his ears, the agent knew to note broken, bruised and cracked ribs.

The blood which had decorated the side of Walter’s face earlier remained, only thicker and in worryingly greater abundance than before. Red dripped from his cut cheek down across the pallid flesh like a tear, dripping onto his clothes without pause.

Fractured cheekbone. Bruises. Mild Concussion. Dislocated shoulder. Broken bones. Blood loss. Bruises. Cracked ribs. Possibly punctured lung. Constricted airway. Bruises _._ Dizziness, nausea, dangerously elevated heartbeat. _Bruises._

When Walter’s gaze met his, Cabe felt his heart sink down his chest into a far, blackened abyss where he couldn’t feel its beat.

Exhausted eyes darkened with unconcealed pain mirror his own widened orbs. An ounce of defeat, almost untraceable, undetectable, slithered through their look.

“Hey.” The quiet word breathlessly passed through bloodied and split lips. They attempted to twist into a silent, still and slight smile. It looked more like a grimace.

“Hey yourself.” Cabe replied, voice somehow not lost in his throat. He hadn’t ever realised he was holding his breath.

Walter raised his head slightly, and under the hanging naked bulb above, Cabe could just make out tones of purple and green under his jaw. The agent wanted badly to shake himself from his stupor. His heart seemed to be making a lot of noise.

Cabe could feel their rebellious captor shift centimetres from his chair, soft breaths even and controlled. Opposite him, behind Walter’s chair, another rebel stood mimicking his movements. A moment of silence reigned over the room before the man’s commanding voice broke it.

“How do you say…” The rogue paused for a moment, and Cabe could picture his torn and bloodied knuckles, bruised from consistent contact with thin flesh and fragile bone. He felt his stomach turn. “We are… done playing games, yes?”

The agent attempted to hide his slight surprise. He hadn’t expected the rebels to give in so quickly. He knew they must have been running on some sort of schedule, already behind with the time they utilised to futilely torture Walter.

No one spoke for a moment.

“We were… careless. We did not think a computer- expert, genius?” He paused, and Cabe didn’t have to see his face to notice his smile. “Could be so, how you say… _stubborn_.”

Something in Walter’s gaze faltered in that moment, and Cabe felt the cruel fingers of hate and worry clenching tighter around his heart. He hadn’t given them anything. After an hour of brutality, Walter had given them _nothing._

“We have wasted far too much time. We understand that perhaps we may have been too… rash in our initial…” Another short pause, “assessment.”

Something in his words made Cabe’s palms clammy and his bottom lip bloody from being bitten through. Cabe knew they were running out of time, that they’d been too rash in expecting that Walter would give them _anything._ He could only do so much as wonder- they’d not interrogated the agent himself yet. The thought  hadn’t escaped him.

The more probable reason rested with them realising he had no information to offer, as it had been established earlier that Walter was _the tech guy._ Neither of them were part of the original mission, but Walter had a way of receiving secret Intel when the older agent didn’t. He had no relevant information to offer, no hacking or cyber-web skills the rogues were able to exploit.

That was why they had spent so much time _they didn’t have_ on Walter. A mere civilian- no military training, no military skills. They’d expected that their dedication of time they could have spent planning or reinforcing wouldn’t be utilised in a _futile_ attempt to extract information.

But now they were running on borrowed time. They hadn’t counted on who he was. They hadn’t counted on the civilian being _Walter._

“Due to some… difficulties-” Walter’s stubbornness, his defiance, his inability to obey authority, his _courage-_ “we are… forced to take more, how you say,” a pause where the thick Russian accent seemed to twist in question, “take _drastic measures_.”

Neither Cabe nor Walter were allowed a chance to reply. Instantaneously, the man standing behind the young genius lifted his hand to hold a revolver to Walter’s head.

The tension which tainted the air was so thick the agent felt as if he could cut it through with a knife. Cabe’s heart began to speed up and his breathing was momentarily impeded as he involuntarily consumed the image of a gun pressed hard against Walter’s right temple, barrel smearing the blood already tainting his pale flesh and digging into his skin so roughly Cabe feared it would bruise.

Besides the almost unnoticeable tensing of slender shoulders, Walter hadn’t moved an inch.

Cabe’s palms become clammy behind him. He could feel a thin sheen of sweat on his brow and a nervous tick to his movements.

“See,” the rebel behind Cabe continued to speak, and the agent felt something dark and angry stir deep in his chest, “we now understand it is an _incentive_ we must provide Walter. Perhaps, Agent Gallo,” there was a soft, mocking lilt to his tone, “you will aid us in... _persuading him_.”

When Cabe spoke, it was staring at the young man chained to chair in front of him, barrel of a loaded gun pressed to his temple. When he spoke, he did so carefully with an adroitly controlled voice.

“Walter…”

The young man met his eyes. They both knew the rebels meant business. They didn’t seem to have much time left, and if it was their safety or the Intel, both Cabe and Walter knew what they would choose. They would have no problem putting a bullet in the genius’s head at a moments’ notice.

But Walter seemed to have other ideas.

“Gentlemen,” he replied, speaking for the first time after their initial greeting- voice levelled and eerily calm, “I believe your attempts are once more futile.”

Cabe heard a very loud curse word echo in his head.

A moment of silence, and then…

The revolver held against Walter’s head clicked as the safety pin was removed. Bullets rolled into place and the rebel’s finger tightened against the trigger.

And yet Walter looked straight ahead, dark intelligent orbs meeting the agent’s. His orbs were filled with some sort of estranged assurance and cloaked in calm, like a gun wasn’t pressed against the side of his head. Like his blood and brain matter couldn’t possibly be decorating the filthy cell they were shackled within in a few, short, terrible moments.

The rebel held a gun to Walter’s head and threatened to shoot, and the younger man looked almost _accepting._

Cabe could swear he’d never been in a more terrifying situation in his entire life.

“No?” The man behind the agent spoke, voice tinged with something almost like disappointment. “Then I suppose we will need a more effective means, yes?”

Cabe felt his heart beat normally for a moment, before the weapon was turned on him.

He imagined the rebels must have been getting desperate.

Cabe’s eyes were trained on the gun as the barrel was aimed towards him, and felt himself inwardly scoff. The angle the genius was stationed at allowed him a clear view of the weapon when it shifted to point at Cabe, but these bastards had no idea what they were in for. Walter would _never-_

“Well, Walter? Do you feel like Agent Gallo’s persuasion is effective?”

Cabe could practically hear the smile in the bastard’s voice. He could almost see the twist of bloodied lips as the rebels attempted to find further twisted incentive in order to retrieve the information they desired in the limited duration of time they were allowed. There was _no way in hell-_

“Fine.”

Walter’s voice rang out through the room evident and evened like the edges of a diamond, crisp and hard and unyielding yet tinted with the slightest hint of defeat under the increased tremendous pressure. His dark eyes were cold and calculating as he stared over Cabe’s shoulder at the other rebel. The tension had risen to his shoulders once more and had coiled like a snake around the slender of his arms and imbedded itself like sharp jagged glass into his joints. Walter said _yes._

After torture at the hands of rebels, after an immediate threat to his life, after unruly, uncertain hours of rebellion and defiance in order to satisfy the _greater good,_ Walter- the genius with the almost non-existent emotional quotient, was prepared to hand over military intel for _him._ He was willing to risk everything not to satisfy his own mental, emotional and physical torment, but for _Cabe._

Walter was going to do everything he’d sworn he wouldn’t in order to _save his life._

_God damn it._

Cold and almost amused laughter reverberated throughout the filthy cell from behind Cabe, and Walter still wouldn’t meet his eyes- concentrating on the man the agent couldn’t see.

“If I had known it was that easy, why Walter- I would have threatened to shoot Agent Gallo sooner…” The Russian trailed off, leaving the rest unsaid. Walter’s jaw clenched and Cabe could imagine the crescent fingernail scars on his palms. Cabe intercepts because everything was spinning so wildly,

“ _Walter_ -”

“Release him- release Cabe and I’ll get the Intel for you.”

He was ignored but his voice still echoed loudly in his ears,

“ _Walter-”_

“You will let him go and you will not follow him. You will release him on these terms and I’ll get you the information on that software.”

The genius was cold and unrelenting, and the agent’s breath escaped him when he heard the rebel’s reply,

“You have a deal, Walter.”

_God Damn it._

*

They released Walter and allowed him to unshackle Cabe.

With stiff movements and trembling limbs, the younger man knelt by the agent and opened his restraints with the key provided by the rebels. His fingers shook with the movement and the steel almost seemed far too heavy for him to carry, but with justified persistence he managed to force the key into the hole and unlocked the first shackle, followed by the second.

As the heavy metal dropped to the filthy ground with a loud _clank_ , Cabe exploited the moment and began to properly gather and organise his thoughts into something slightly more orderly than the anarchic and chaotic flood they had collected in.

When Walter leaned over him, and Cabe could see weapons trained on them from over a slender shoulder, he utilised the single opportunity he knew he was going to receive.

“What are you planning?”

His voice was far too soft to carry, and the sounds of heavy metal rubbing and clashing drowned out whatever stray tones that may have escaped.

“Trust me”, came the quiet hushed reply.

 _Trust me,_ Walter says.

So Cabe does.

*

If Cabe had to contemplate the actions and events which occurred in the moments following his quiet interaction with Walter, he would only be able to recount a series of blurred, rapid and uncertain moments flashing in vivid succession. Despite the tension so thick he may have been able to choke on it had he drawn a breath deep enough, the time had seemed to fly so seamlessly it seemed as if naught had passed nor occured at all.

Except, it hadn’t all been a swirl of repetitive tones painted in a glossy mural with the terrible colours of chaos and anarchy as paint. It hadn’t been a contemporary artwork fashioned from the fickle strings of luck, fortune and coincidence.

Rather, it had been immensely elaborate and brilliantly executed. Walter had demanded Cabe’s immediate release, which had been instantaneously protested against. But the young genius, with a defiant glint in his eyes and barely supressed resentment in his tone, had utilised the thesaurus residing within his brain to convince the rebels, quite intricately if Cabe would recall, as to why his terms would be the only ones met that day.

_You drive, how is it said… a hard bargain, Mr. O’Brien._

And then they were moved to the room with the software, and Walter had operated his brilliant mind and utilised the complex code no one in the room but him understood, to send a message via satellite communication to the others.

Later, Cabe would find out it simply read _now._

Despite everything, the rebels had refused to release Cabe without the Intel. So after sending the message, standing together in the room with the software lacking shackles and restraints, they stalled.

More so, Walter stalled.

Later, Cabe would find out that the software which should have taken seconds to decrypt instead took close to fifteen, tension-fuelled minutes to completely and utterly erase.

And despite not having much to do with fortune or luck, Cabe had still found himself marvelling over the sheer perfection of the other’s timing.

Walter had remained leant over the keyboard of the old laptop, the agent positioned metres behind him with several weapons trained carefully on either of them. The genius’s shoulders had been stiff, but even from the distance at which he stood Cabe had taken note of the almost imperceptible trembling of those lean fingers. Standing tense with the barrel of a weapon at the small of his back, he had catalogued every scratch and scar and bruise and wound visible in the tears of Walter’s shirt. He had assessed the stains of blood and the discolouration, the odd marks which should have never been there and the fact that Walter had looked ready to collapse.

And yet, he kept on for the elongated minutes and Cabe had known he was stalling. And when he’d finished, and files had been erased, and the rebels had moved from their positions and loud profanities and yells had filled the room.

Cabe didn’t have to force himself to remember the next moment which came so naturally.

The rogues had shifted, a twisted understanding filtering through their minds and stating that their entire mission had been a bloody exercise in incredible futility.

_You have erased it!_

The leader of the rebels, the still nameless Russian, had moved towards Walter with such great fury as the complete understanding of what had occurred washed over him.

Not even Cabe’s yell, nor the blood freezing in his veins, nor the shivers which had crawled along his arm, was enough to halt to knife sinking into Walter’s side.

All he could do was watch as the younger man’s eyes widened, the metal piercing his flesh to the left. Dilated pupils. Frozen movements. A gasp, not of pain, but of great surprise. And then Walter was looking down at the knife in his side with a strange, formidable detachment, as if he’d not felt all five inches enter his flesh like  a fork through warm butter. _Shock._

Hence, what had occurred next he’d come to think of as a picturesque cued scene for a very long time to come.

And then, the following moment had Jim and Happy and Toby and the other soldiers busting in armed with weapons and anger and determination.

And then, if Cabe had to contemplate the actions and events which occurred in the moments following his quiet interaction with Walter, he would remember _chaos._

*

“Hurry- just _go, go, go!_ ”

Jim’s yelling frantically to his fellow soldiers, voiced laced with great urgency and pitched high. Cabe forced a breath through his lips and adjusted his hold on Walter, stumbling along between Toby and himself.

The agent’s boots sunk into the moist soil and his heavy steps weighed him down almost as much as the loud, consistent banging rhythm residing behind his temples. His shoulders had had long begun to ache from when he’d slung Walter’s limp arm across them and looped one around his narrow waist, before yelling at Toby to _help him, damn it._

Cabe could feel a nervousness creep along his throat with a particular wet warmth dyed his fingers at Walter’s side, but the younger man was still conscious and his feet were still planted firmly enough beneath him for them to move.

Cabe could see the van awaiting them not thirty feet ahead, a brilliant symbol of finality. He could faintly make out Paige seated in the drivers’ seat from beneath the blood which streamed down and compromised his already blurry vision. He could almost see anxiety evidently enveloping her features and stiff movements like spilt paint across and an already dirty canvas.

He didn’t think about that. Instead, he concentrated on forcing one leg in front of the other and maintaining a firm grip on Walter as flashes and bangs echoed in the distance, bullets flying astray and yells piercing the air like a bitter melody.

“Hey- hey, _Walt_ \- come on, we’re like twenty feet away.” He heard Toby mumble softly and quickly to the young man between them. Walter’s feet seemed to be getting heavier and the stability of his steps began to decrease, his poise and balance faltering the nearer they got to the vehicle. His head hung low and the moon bounced of his skin like a looking glass, reflecting the crimson tainting his cheek and dripping to his jawline and casting dark shadows across his features.

Cabe licked his dry lips and forced his voice from his throat as they stumbled less than a metre away from the van,

“Come on Walter, we’re here, we’re here kid, just a little more…” He trailed off as they reached their destination, and the back sliding door of the vehicle slamming open.

Happy appeared, leant over the seat with the same anxiety as Paige across her features. “ _Get_ _him_ _in_.”

She reached forth with her arms extended and helped Walter gently into the back before Cabe. Walter lifted his feet into the vehicle stiffly and with exhaustion marring his features, almost limp as he was carefully positioned beside Happy near the window.

The mechanic took a moment to glance down at the knife wound inflicted as Walter settled in beside her with an unsuppressed wince. Cabe immediately saw the blood drain from her features as if consumed by some sponge.

The other soldiers quickly piled in at the seats to the front, and Cabe could barely register Toby slamming the door shut. In their mad rush and dramatic escape, his eyes only found Walter as the younger man struggled to keep his eyelids open.

The younger man released a breath as Happy leaned forward and yelled for _bandages, dressing, band aids, anything god damn it just give me something!_

“’M fine…” Walter mumbled, immediately before he slumped backwards and leant completely on the seat behind him. His eyes fluttered shut and in amidst the chaos and bullets and urgent yells, Cabe was left with an unconscious Walter and a knife wound and blood loss.

And his mind became as he’d been attempting to make it during the entirety of their terrifying experience, eerily professional.

“ _Damn it_.”

*

Manoeuvring Walter enough as to not aggravate his injuries had proven both a tremendously challenging and worrying task.

Instantaneously following his fall in unconscious, Cabe and Happy handled the young genius like fine china.

They had gently pried open his already stained and torn shirt to find pale flesh covered with a thick layer of crimson. Cabe knew that superficial wounds tended to bleed excessively and could easily appear far worse than they were, but the sight of blood dying Walter’s skin still managed to make his stomach role unpleasantly. He pushed morbid thoughts to the far corners of his mind, and opted to ignore the nagging worry and anxiousness which lay heavy on his chest.

Cabe tended, with the aid of one very stoic mechanic, a panicked psychiatrist, and several exhausted soldiers, to the most serious of the wounds.

He silently thanked whichever deity resided high above for the miracle. The brilliant, remarkably fortunate miracle which had the knife enter Walter’s side _diagonally,_ metal slipping through without disturbing any bone or major organs. The bleeding had stopped by now, only to leave a narrow hole in the flesh. A wound not shallow yet not deep, only life-threatening if left untreated for hours. Another inch to the side and Cabe knew for certain a lung would have been punctured, leading to problematic breathing, organ collapse, extensive bleeding, increased bodily shock, and within minutes, complete and total system collapse.    

_Miracles indeed._

“How’s he doing?” Paige’s soft voice snapped him from his thoughts. He began adjusting the clean bandages wrapped tightly around the dressing Happy had applied only minutes ago.

“He’ll be alright.” His voice was gruff to his own ears, an attempt at remaining stoic and unattached. He knew he was far past that point already.

He heard a light sigh from the front when the ex-waitress’s words filled the car again, relief dying her tone in an exhausted manner like a string taut too tight.

“Okay- okay, that’s good.” From his point of view, leaning over Walter in the back, Cabe could almost make out the whiteness of her knuckles in the moonlight as she drove across the rocky terrain.

Happy and Toby helped him attach the bandage across Walter’s waist completely, the trio not failing to notice the spots of red which had already begun to taint the fabric.

“Sure pissed ‘em off, didn’t he?” Jim’s voice rang from the front, beside Paige. Cabe felt a strange, unhappy smile stretch his dried and bloodied lips.

“Sure did…” Toby muttered before Cabe could, and now, sitting beside him, Cabe could finally notice the slight tremors running through his lean hands. “He sure did…”

A scoff of tired laughter echoed again from one of the soldiers in front. “Crazy bastard.”

And driving in the middle of the night, having only just escaped a group of aggressive, merciless rebels with his team alive and Walter unconscious beside him, Cabe couldn’t help but agree.

 


End file.
